Die by the Hand
by Kara Sterling
Summary: Dorian x Inquisitor. "The next time someone drops a powerful elven artifact, remind me not to pick it up." The Inquisitor is dying, the mark poisoning him with ancient magic never meant for him. Dorian must make a difficult decision, one that could save the Inquisitor's life but destroy their relationship. Short story - Complete.


_Welcome to my first DA fanfiction! I recently played Inquisition and then the new Trespasser DLC and fell so hard for Dorian, that I had to get this story out of my head. I hope you enjoy!_

* * *

So this was how it was to end. Not in a glory of battle, but garroted by his own hand.

Wyatt Trevelyan stared down at his trembling fingers and grimaced. Years of swordsmanship and training, of rising swiftly among the ranks, of cutting down his enemies, for it all to end like this. Obliterated by ancient elven magic. Magic that didn't belong in this world, and should have remained dormant.

It was a bitter pill to swallow—the knowledge that all he'd accomplished had begun with a series of miscalculations. Once, the people had believed Andraste herself had rescued him from the Fade and sent him on a holy path to free the people from Corypheus' tyranny. They had believed he would free them and once again show them the way of the Maker.

They were wrong.

There was nothing _holy_ about his mark, and certainly not pre-ordained. Andraste and the Maker had truly abandoned them, which begged the question: whose side would he go to when he died? For there was no question now. His death was imminent.

Regardless of the healer's pretty words and ornate spells, Wyatt _knew_ the truth. His bones were wracked with a deep agony; it hurt to move, to fight… to breathe. A rattling ache that foretold his grim future.

"Did you hear what I said, Worship?"

Wyatt lifted his head and leveled the healer with a dark glare. "I'm dying, not deaf."

"My lord, I will continue to look into the matter, I—"

"Don't bother. I know a lost cause when I see one."

"Worship—"

"Get out."

The mage hesitated, and stared down at the blighted mark anchored into Wyatt's hand. Magic leaked from his fingers, emerald droplets spilling to the floor. The blasted thing had a mind of its own now, activating without the slightest provocation. He felt another episode developing. The pit of his stomach burned with unspoiled magic. It felt alien to him, like something he was never supposed to possess. The power diseased his body, robbing him of so much more than his strength.

"I would take my leave, were I you," a somber voice rose behind him.

The mage bowed his head, then scrambled from the cramped room without so much as a glance back.

Wyatt's eyes fluttered shut and his heart grew heavy. This was the last thing he'd wanted. He'd hoped to keep this from him, to spare him the misery and anguish. "Dorian, you shouldn't be here."

"No? Have you forgotten that I go where you go? And here you are."

Wyatt kept his attention trained on his hand. It hardly felt like his anymore. His fingers had long since gone numb when not wracked with spearing pain. It wasn't simply his hand though. The contamination was spreading, thanks to their recent wanderings in the Fade, and all because of the advancing qun. This entire situation was ridiculous.

"Why didn't you say anything? We had to hear from Leliana."

 _Of course_. Nothing was sacred among the inner circle. His so-called spymaster had likely leapt at the opportunity to inform them all of this devastating turn of events.

Wyatt rocked to his feet and crossed the room, refusing to so much as glance at Dorian. Anyone else, and he could have pulled off his signature stoicness. But Dorian… he saw right through him. Always had.

"Amatus, look at me," Dorian pleaded.

With a deep breath, Wyatt emptied himself of all emotion. It wouldn't do any good for him to labor on the injustice of all this, to rail on about how he and Dorian never found a moment of peace. He'd once believed that they could conquer anything, so long as they were together, but this… this was far beyond their abilities.

Once he found a scrap of control, he turned and met Dorian's inquisitive stare.

"Are you all right?"

"I should think that answer is quite clear already," Wyatt mumbled.

Dorian reached for Wyatt's hand.

Wrenching away from him, Wyatt all but leapt backward. "Are you mad? Don't _touch_ that!"

"Why not? Afraid I can't handle a little taste of magic?"

"This isn't a joke, Dorian."

"Of course it isn't. Now let me see your hand."

Wyatt shook his head. "It's out of control. I won't see you injured by this blighted thing."

Dorian lifted a well sculpted brow. "Trust in me, Amatus."

For a brief moment, Wyatt contemplated his request, if only to feel Dorian's touch. He'd been gone a month already only to return and inform him of his impending, and permanent, move to Tevinter after the Winter Palace was handled.

At first, Wyatt had never known such pain. Now, he had a whole new standard to measure by. "Dorian, I think…" His voice broke. He couldn't speak aloud the thoughts that plagued him, but he had to. For Dorian's sake. "Perhaps you should leave."

His brow dropped. "If you require a moment alone, I can give that to you, but—"

Wyatt sighed and closed his eyes. "I think you should leave the Winter Palace. Go home, to Tevinter."

"I intend to once this delightful mess is all cleaned up."

"No. Now."

Dorian froze. It wasn't often the man was rendered speechless. Were it not for the bleak situation, Wyatt might have reveled in such an accomplishment. "What are you saying? And do be clear, if you don't mind."

 _Maker's breath_ , this was impossible to put into words. "I've lost control of the anchor. The magic is spreading, and the healers can't do anything to help me. I'm going back to finish this, to stop this war with the qun before it breaks out. I doubt there will be any coming back from this one. I have enough time to stop the Vidasalla. I don't want you anywhere near me when I… This is wild magic. The last thing I want is to see you hurt, or to be there when I…" He cleared his throat.

"When you die," Dorian rumbled. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned into his back leg. "I appreciate your offer and humbly request that you shove it up your ass, Inquisitor."

"This isn't a game!" Whatever else he meant to say, his words devolved into a harrowing cry when his hand crackled, the room now bathed in viridian light and ravaged by bolts of energy arcing into the walls and bookshelves. Blinding pain swept up his arm and speared his chest. "Dorian! I can't control it!"

Torn from his feet, Wyatt slammed into the nearest wall, his hand lifted high in the air as though the fade itself had plucked him from the ground.

The air snapped with unbridled power, until finally it resonated in his chest with a deafening explosion. As quickly as it came upon him, the energy vanished with an almost audible pop. Wyatt spilled to the ground, his hand cradled against his heaving chest.

A barrage of rushed footsteps echoed in Wyatt's ears.

"Vasta faas, keep back you bloody vultures!" Dorian shouted. "Give him room to breathe."

 _Breathing_ … that would be nice. Wyatt choked on the first lungful of air, then rolled onto his side. Maker's ass, that hurt.

"Inquisitor," Leliana chirped nearby. "Should I fetch the healer?"

"Why bother?" Wyatt rasped. "He's already said there's nothing he can do."

A gentle hand cupped his elbow. "It's just me," Dorian whispered when Wyatt first jerked back.

He staggered to his feet. "Leave us," Wyatt ordered the others.

Leliana gave a slight nod, then shepherded the rest of the inner circle out of the room.

"You're not going to die, Amatus," Dorian informed him the moment they were alone. "I promise you that."

Except, the promise was nothing more than empty words. Wyatt needed him to understand, needed to convince Dorian to leave. "It isn't just the healers. I can feel the corruption spreading within. Whatever this magic is, it's going to rip me apart."

"You don't _know_ that."

"I do." He straightened and released a long breath. "I can hear the voices even now, whispering the truth in my ear." The Well of Sorrows knew more about this magic than he could interpret. For the first time ever, he found himself wishing for Morrigan, to help interpret their frenzied words.

"I knew you'd break my heart, you bloody bastard." Dorian pronounced after a moment's hesitation. "But I'm not going anywhere. Inquisitor or not, you won't force me from the Winter Palace. Regardless of what's coming our way, I will remain by your side until the very end."

Gentle hands rose and cupped Wyatt's cheeks. Dorian's touch always sparked within him a primal need, and tonight was no different. Desire awoke within Wyatt, chasing the elven magic away with the promise of something far more intimate. He needed this. Needed the ambassador's touch to center and calm his thoughts. His body came alive, and without thought, he shoved Dorian back against the wall and claimed his mouth in a searing kiss, desperate to show the man exactly what he meant to him.

"There now," Dorian murmured once they broke apart. "Feel better, Amatus?"

He couldn't help the low chuckle that clawed its way out of his throat. "Let's get this over with."

* * *

Wyatt collapsed to his knees among the rubble and watched in resignation as Solas vanished through the mirror. All this to avert a war, and the elf hadn't even needed his help. The magic he possessed was terrifying. A flash of eyes, a wave of a hand, and the entire qunari regiment had turned to stone. What was the point then of dragging him here? Of racing through demon infested libraries and unexplored regions of the fade? Solas—or rather, _Fen'Harel_ —hadn't required the Inquisition's assistance at all. He'd talked of putting a stop to a new war, but the supposed _god_ had ended it himself.

Wyatt's gaze shifted to the craggy visage of the Vidasalla, the one he'd chased clear across the fade. All for nothing. Energy arced from his hand, leaking power over the remains. He'd hoped Solas could save him, could put an end to the primitive magic running rampant within him.

But what had the elf said?

 _The mark will eventually kill you. Drawing you here gave me the chance to save you… at least for now._

Seemed not even Fen'Harel could not stop the inevitable. Wyatt's head spun with all he'd learned. The anchor had been meant for Solas, someone who possessed the immeasurable strength needed to control the mark. All things considered, he was relieved he'd somehow intercepted Solas' plans, if only to save the world from the impending oblivion he had spoken of. A few years of peace, he'd said. Though the realization burned, Wyatt knew he wouldn't have traded his life for what little peace they'd managed to find. Nor would he trade away his time at Dorian's side.

 _Dorian_.

He hadn't come through the final eluvian with Wyatt, much to his dismay. He could only imagine his ambassador's panic, but Solas had apparently locked the eluvian down so only he could pass through. _A moment to explain, Inquisitor_ , he'd said.

For a pained moment, he debated remaining here among the statue army until the mark claimed him. Dorian deserved better than that, though. Wyatt hadn't a clue how much time Solas had granted him—though not long if the burgeoning pain ripping through his gut was evident of anything.

Resigned, he clamored to his feet and tucked his lambent hand into his chest. A weak cough rolled through his lungs, his muscles tired and aching. It'd been a long day, a long few years if he were being honest. At least it was drawing to a close. It wouldn't be much longer now. But by the grace of the Maker, he would see Dorian one more time.

He staggered back toward the eluvian, his hand held out to activate it. With his next breath, he stood on the other side. Shouts rose from the decimated field, and rising above them all was Dorian.

The edges of Wyatt's vision faded to a sickly green. The anchor, he realized, bright as the breach, swelling from his hand. Agony bubbled up the back of his throat, his bones heavy, but he'd made it.

"Inquisitor!"

The ground rose up, his knees slamming into the stone. Someone was shouting, issuing orders he couldn't quite make out above the mark's din. It was chaos in his head, the wild magic ripping out of his body. Thank goodness he couldn't feel it anymore.

He toppled onto his back and stared up at what amounted to sky in the Fade. Maybe he was close enough for the Maker to hear him, to answer his call. _Let this end, let Dorian find peace_. _Maker take me_ …

"Not today," someone growled.

A flash of silver caught his eye, lifted toward the sky. It descended, its sharpened edge glimmering against the green light. A blade, Wyatt realized. But as it plunged toward his arm, he slipped into the proverbial darkness, drifting away to the sound of someone cursing his very existence.

* * *

It was the sound of whistling wind that woke Wyatt.

Astonished he yet lived, he blinked open his eyes to find himself staring up at a familiar ceiling. _Skyhold_ , he realized. So many questions and very few answers. Last he remembered, he'd stumbled out of the eluvian and into Dorian's arms, his body wracked with pain.

He'd expected death, not waking up in his own bed, swathed in layers of blankets to chase off the chilled mountain air.

A soft muttering drew his attention to his bedside. Head lolling against his apparently fluffed pillows, Wyatt's mouth curved into a grin at the wondrous image Dorian portrayed. Rather adorable how he had tucked himself into his favorite armoire with his head cradled against the curved back as he dozed. Dangling from his fingers was a thin tome. Hardly a surprise. The man was never without a book—one of the first things Wyatt had found attractive about him.

Feeling a bit feverish, he shifted on the bed, about to push down the covers when Dorian bolted upright. "You're awake," he stated.

"As are you."

"Sorry about that." He pushed the book aside and shifted in the seat. "You were sleeping so soundly, it was difficult not to join you."

"I've never known you to turn down my bed before," Wyatt teased, his voice trailing off when unease flickered behind Dorian's eyes. "Something wrong?"

"Not at all. Why would you assume something's wrong?"

"Mostly because you're sitting in a chair rather than ravishing me in celebration of our survival."

"Ah." Dorian reached up and scratched at his head. "There are some things we should discuss, formalities to get out of the way before there is to be any ravishing." He shifted to the edge of his chair and held up a hand. "Please, don't start moving around yet. We should talk, then I'll call for a healer."

"Is that necessary?"

"Amatus, please," Dorian pleaded when Wyatt made to move once more. "Aren't you the least bit curious as to how you're alive?"

"Sure, but that pales in comparison to my relief."

"Good. I'm glad to hear that."

Wyatt offered him a small smile, then settled back into the pillows. Relief loosened Dorian's shoulders. He pushed to his feet and walked over to the fireplace.

"Are you all right?" Wyatt asked.

"Vasta faas, I should be the one asking you that."

"I feel fine," he proclaimed. For the first time in years, he felt normal. Though his mouth was parched and his head a touch heavy, his hand was without the weight of magic, as light as air.

Dorian sighed then, his entire body deflating against the stone hearth. "I must tell you something."

"I'm all ears."

"When you came stumbling out of the eluvian, I've never known such fear. I was afraid to lose you, afraid you'd sunder the very fade with us within it. Vivienne and I had hoped to contain the energy, but it was far too powerful."

"Believe me, I felt it. Next time someone drops a powerful elven orb, remind me not to pick it up."

"Cute," Dorian rumbled, clearly unamused by his attempt at humor. "This won't be easy to tell you, so I'm going to say it. As a means of saving your life, we had to remove the mark."

"I'm afraid you'll have to explain that one," Wyatt commented. "It isn't like it was a glove to be removed."

"No. It was not." He turned back to Wyatt then, a look of remorse and pain sculpting his face. "We removed your hand."

 _Removed your hand_ … the words echoed in his head. Wyatt blinked, not entirely sure he understood. He was about to question further when the daunting realization sank in. Removed his hand… his pulse sped up, his heart pounding in his ears. The weightlessness to his hand, the lack of magic prickling against his skin… all of it gone, literally.

Cursing under his breath, he wrenched his arm out from the many layers of blankets and stared at the mutilated stump. So many thoughts whipped through his mind, too many to decipher.

"Amatus, say something," Dorian beseeched. "It was the only way to save your life."

Wyatt understood that. He did. But his mind still refused to wrap around the fact that he was a hand down. He was a warrior, a Chevalier, a man of sword and shield. Without either of those, what was he? Was this why Dorian had refused to lie in bed with him? Afraid of what this meant? Afraid that it would change them? Would it? Couldn't accept damaged goods? A broken man?

He shook his head, as though to rid himself of these plaguing thoughts, but they clung to him like webbing. Without a word, he threw the covers back and reached for his nearest breeches. He needed out of this room, needed a moment to think, air to help him come to terms, _anything_ other than Dorian's pitiful apologies.

Part of him realized he was being unfair. The man had done what he needed to save his life, but Wyatt couldn't see past his scarred arm.

He struggled into his pants, grunting in frustration when they caught on a single hip. _Maker's breath_ , he couldn't even tie them up! The strings hung down, laying there without anything to tie them up.

"Here, allow me to help."

Wyatt turned away from Dorian with a sneer and stalked out of the room without a single word.

* * *

"Hey boss," Iron Bull grunted as he dropped into the chair next to Wyatt. "Keeping that stool warm I see."

"Someone needs to," he muttered.

"And drinking all our ale."

"That too."

Wyatt lifted the dented mug into the air and downed the repugnant liquid without so much as a breath. There'd been a time when this ale would have set him on his ass, but with time came acclimation. Too bad the same couldn't be said for everything else in his life.

"So, just checking in. Seeing how everything's going, and all that…"

Wyatt curled a lip and tossed back another mug. Every night for a month someone felt it necessary to check in. As though they expected him to accept everything and move on with his life.

Move on.

To what, exactly?

When he didn't answer, Bull grunted and shook his head. "Josie says we should give you time. Balls to that, hey? Spoken to the Vint since he returned to the Imperium?"

Annoyance brought the mug back to Wyatt's lips.

"Put that down, boss. Come on. It's a simple question."

Truth was he hadn't spoken much to Dorian since waking up back at Skyhold. After that initial day, Wyatt had avoided everyone like the plague. Oh, Dorian had tried, but throughout all these years, Wyatt had managed to pick up a few sly tricks from Cole and Sera. Wasn't hard to disappear into the shadows when you weren't cluttered down with armor and weaponry. Eventually, he'd heard through the grapevine that Dorian had returned home.

Most nights, Wyatt lay in bed thinking of him. Though he'd never admit it allowed, he missed him dearly. It wasn't the right time for them right now, though.

"All right, boss," Bull finally sighed with resignation. "Come with me, hey? There's something I think you should see."

"Can't a man drink in peace?"

"You call that peace?"

Jaw tight, Wyatt slammed the mug down onto the counter and glanced up at Bull. "Fine, what do you want?"

"Just a moment of your time, boss. That's all."

"You know I'm not your boss anymore, right?"

"Ah, you'll always be the big chief. Let's go."

Resigned, Wyatt slid off the stool and stumbled into Bull. The moment his arm touched Bull's side, he jerked back and tucked it behind his back. Shame lowered his eyes, but after a moment's pause, the two left the inn.

"So what is it you want to show me?"

"Your head clear enough for this?"

"Clear enough for what—" Before he so much as glanced up, a heavy shield slammed into his chest and sent him sprawling into the dirt. "Andraste's tits, Bull!" Wyatt shouted from the flat of his back, his ribs inflamed. "Are you mad?"

"Mad? Sure, in the I'm pissed at you sort of way."

Lifting his hand to his head, Wyatt staggered to his feet. "Maker's breath. That hurt."

"Good. Maybe it'll knock some sense into you."

He glanced up in time to find Bull bearing down on him once more. This time, Wyatt spun out of the way and watched in mild irritation as the qunari rammed into the nearest dummy. "Better start explaining yourself, Bull!" Wyatt called as he reached for the nearest shield.

Triumph lit up the qunari's eyes. Rather than answer, he surged forward once more, sword flashing in the dim sunlight. Wyatt cursed and leapt backward just as the sharpened edge caught against his tunic. "I _liked_ this shirt!"

Bull brought his sword down in a wide overhead arc that Wyatt spotted a mile away. He ducked under the qunari's beefy arm and slammed the shield into his chest. Bull staggered, then pushed back to his feet and danced around him. Cursing, Wyatt leapt back and waited for Bull's back before spinning in a tight circle and unleashing the momentum on him.

"Aha!" Bull laughed. "Now that's what I'm _talking_ about!"

"We're not even talking!" Wyatt shouted back.

"This is how qunari settle their fights." He rushed and unleashed a flurry of movements that had Wyatt gasping for air as he struggled to avoid them.

"Didn't even know we were fighting," Wyatt snapped as he slammed his shield into Bull's arm and knocked free the sword. Executing a perfect lunge, he bashed the buckler into Bull's face and watched without sympathy as the qunari spilled to the ground.

Wyatt stalked toward the sword, grasped it between his fingers, then aimed it down at Bull's throat. "Care to explain yourself, or should I just stick this into your throat right now?"

"Feels good, doesn't it, boss?" Bull responded.

"Does _what_ feel good?"

"Picking up the sword again, training with your men."

Wyatt turned cold as ice, his expression bleak as Bull's lesson sank in.

"You aren't the only one to have lost something in the war." He gestured with a horn toward the training ring out in the field. "Question is, you going to do something about it, or continue moping in the tavern every night?"

A small group began to gather: Cassandra, Sera, and Cullen the three most forefront.

"It isn't that simple," Wyatt countered. "Sure I took you down, but how often am I faced against a single enemy."

"Then you learn, boss. Adapt. Train. Find a way to be who you are without sinking into a flask of ale."

He glanced over his shoulder to find a few of his inner circle nodding along.

"And boss?" Bull called back his attention. "Go find your Vint."

Sera giggled behind him. "Yea, you don't want to lose him over something as _stupid_ as him saving your life."

Encircled by his closest friends, Wyatt felt a true smile curve his lips in what seemed like ages.

* * *

A month's worth of training and exercise had resulted in a new type of muscle. Rather than a thick upper body with large arms for bracing a shield, he'd grown much leaner. He'd shed his immense muscles in exchange for fluid and grace, a result of his new style of combat. A mix between rogue and warrior. While he had yet to become proficient, Wyatt felt a semblance of hope. His life had returned to normal, a regiment of training that left him exhausted most nights. Few so much as batted an eye at his missing hand, and instead, recounted the tales of his triumph over Corypheus, the Vidasalla, and the anchor, without so much as a whispered word about all he'd lost.

Though his life had resumed its normal pace, he lacked the most important aspect.

Dorian, from what he'd learned, had indeed assumed his father's place in the Magisterium. From what little information they'd successfully gathered, he was a voice of resistance against corruption. Seemed he'd formed a group called the Lucerni, though Wyatt hadn't a clue of their goals, nor did he care.

"You sure about this, boss? The qun hasn't been particularly friendly with the Imperium as of late. It might be dangerous times, there."

Wyatt offered Bull a reassuring grin. "When did that ever stop any of us before?"

Bull chuckled and slapped the Inquisitor on the back. "Then go get him, boss. But before you leave, a few of us got you a going away gift."

Wyatt quirked a brow and waited as Bull and Leliana leaned out the door. It was the dwarf, Dagna, who came through, clutching a wrapped gift in her hands.

"We have been working on this for weeks," Leliana murmured as she stepped up next to him. "Though we know it will not replace what was lost, we still wish for you to have it."

"Ready for this?" Dagna grinned, then tore of the wrapping in a quick flurry. "Ta-da!"

Wyatt blinked and stared down at the odd contraption. Shiny metal gleamed under the sconce light, etched with an assortment of engravings, all individual to each of his friends. His gaze tracked the smooth lines and came to a stop at what appeared to be five metal fingers.

"Dagna's been researching arcane magic her entire life," Leliana offered. "When we inquired about a replacement for your hand, she immediately set to work. Will you try it on?"

A _prosthetic_ arm? Wyatt wasn't quite sure what to think. Two months had gone by and he'd come to terms with his new life. Still, the shiny metal practically sang to him. He'd always loved new armor.

Speechless, he nodded, then unclipped his folded sleeve and pushed it up to expose his arm. Dagna scurried over with a massive grin, her eyes bright with excitement.

"This shouldn't hurt," she told him. "We had one of the mages enchant it so that it can only be worn by you. And if my calculations were correct, it should work almost as well as your former hand."

"As in, I could carry a shield again?"

Dagna shrugged. "Perhaps. It hasn't been tested yet, so don't push your luck."

It melded with his arm in a shocking display of green light that gave his heart a palpitation. Seemed that'd been his friends' intent as they all burst into laughter.

"Ha-ha," Wyatt playfully scolded them. He'd seen enough elven magic for his lifetime.

Without thought, the fingers closed into a fist to match his other hand. Awed, he put his Silverite hand through a series of tests, mesmerized as it performed each task without pause. _Magic_ …

"Well, Inquisitor?" Dagna demanded. "How does it feel?"

"Odd," Wyatt responded. "Are you sure this one won't try to kill me?"

A fresh smattering of laughter rose in the room.

"No more than anything else," Dagna answered.

Wyatt lifted a brow and faced her down. "So…?"

"Just be careful with it. And let me know if there are any issues. I can't wait to tinker with this shining star again."

"Now, go get your Vint," Bull razzed him.

"Thank you," Wyatt finally offered. "All of you."

He turned and left the room then, a hopeful smile tugging on his lips. He simply hoped Dorian was as agreeable.

* * *

The Imperium was breathtaking. Marble columns, mosaic flooring, ornate fountains, and gardens as far as the eye could see. It was no wonder Dorian had thought Ferelden to be barbaric. He entered the Pavus estate and circled the foyer, all the while eyeing the gold accents and vaulted ceilings. _Maker's breath_ … Skyhold held its own, but Haven must have been horrible for the poor man.

An elf quietly approached, her flat shoes silent against the polished floor. "Greetings, ser. Might I announce you—" She froze the moment her gaze rose to his. "Maker's breath, you're him, aren't you?"

"Him, who?"

"Him, who, he says," a familiar voice echoed in the corridor behind him.

Wyatt's heart leapt into his throat. Still as stone, he closed his eyes and took a moment to quell the thunderous roar of his pulse. This was why he'd come after all, to apologize to Dorian, and hopefully… more.

 _No_ , he gave himself a small shake. Apologizing was the main mission here. Whatever happened afterward happened, but Wyatt held no illusions. The man had saved his life, but how had he repaid him?

Once his heart steadied, he turned, only to lose his breath at the sight of Dorian. If anything the two months home had done him well. If possible, his skin had darkened a shade or two, his hair a little longer but perfectly groomed. He leaned against the nearest column, hands folded in front of his belt, and eyed Wyatt.

"Dorian."

"Inquisitor."

Wyatt flinched. He should have expected as such. _Amatus_ was reserved for someone in Dorian's heart, and after two months, he had to be open to the possibility that he'd chosen someone else far more worthy.

"I came to speak with you," Wyatt said in a clear voice. "Alone, if possible."

"Indeed. We're alone now."

He glanced around to find that the servant had, in fact, vanished. "I was hoping for somewhere a little more…"

"Intimate?" Dorian surmised with a slight sneer. "By all means then. Follow me, Inquisitor."

There it was again. And if Wyatt wasn't mistaken, there was a tinge of sarcasm to the title. He could take that. He would take whatever Dorian dished out, so long as he accepted his apology.

"Feel free to watch my backside as we walk. I do recall how much you like it," Dorian called from up ahead.

Wyatt clamped his mouth shut, though his cheeks burned. Showed how well the man knew him. His gaze had indeed been wandering south of the border. Forcing his eyes upward, he instead took in Dorian's home, astounded by the elegance. For some reason, it wasn't what he'd imagined when someone spoke of Tevinter. He'd expected altars and blood mages, not wealth and grace.

After a few turns, Dorian led him into what appeared to be a study. Wyatt swallowed past his nerves and entered, aware that the man had chosen this room specifically as a reminder that he was no longer welcome in his bedroom. _I'm sorry_ … He wanted to shout the words out, but something held him back.

"You're looking well, Herald," Dorian commented as he strolled past and started for his desk. "To what do I owe the honor?"

Wyatt watched as he plucked a letter up from his desk and opened it with a small knife.

"Dorian, please," Wyatt murmured. He stepped toward him and took the letter from his hand. "I came to speak with you, not play games."

"Games?" Dorian laughed. "You mean like avoiding me in hallways, refusing to take meals with me, denying every message that managed to find its way to you?"

Shame spilled through Wyatt's cheeks and heated the back of his neck.

"Why should you be the only one who gets to play games?"

"You're being petty."

"Perhaps." He grabbed the letter back from Wyatt and tossed it down onto his desk. "Say what you came to say then, but I'll tell you now, I am not returning to Skyhold."

"I don't want you to."

Dorian's brows shot up. "Oh, is that so. Then to what do I owe your visit? Is there some nasty creature bearing down on Tevinter that I need to be made aware of?"

"Yes." He watched as disappointment flickered through Dorian's eyes. The man truly believed he had come on business, but seeing the frustration within only renewed Wyatt's hope. Whatever else Dorian said, it was clear he still had feelings for him. "Me."

Dorian paused. "Beg pardon?"

"If you'll have me that is."

"I'm afraid you'll have to explain that one," Dorian said, using Wyatt's words from the last time they'd spoken.

Wyatt sucked in a deep breath. "I was a fool the last time I saw you. I didn't know how to handle the news about my hand—"

"To which I see you have a new one."

"—and I pushed you away. After you left, I… I stumbled into a bottle of ale and didn't come out for a month."

Dorian's eyes widened at that confession.

"I didn't know how to handle everything. I felt useless, like you wouldn't…" He swallowed his words. Dorian didn't need to know his darkest fears that he wouldn't be good enough for him any longer. "I thought there wouldn't be an us anymore. As though losing my hand had changed me."

"Foolish man," Dorian quipped.

"And stupid, as Sera tells me."

"Always knew I liked her."

Wyatt braved a few steps toward him, slowly rounding the desk. "If you'll have me, I would like to spend the rest of my life trying to make it up to you."

"What, here? In Tevinter?" Dorian sounded positively shocked.

"Here. In Tevinter."

"And what of the Inquisition?"

Wyatt shrugged. "Disbanded. Leliana is quite capable of mounting the search for Solas, Cullen has offered to maintain the ranks. They don't need me anymore. But I need you."

Relief softened Dorian's stern face. "You do, do you?"

He nodded. "Whatever it takes to convince you of that, I'll do it. You stood by my side for years, offering me your support and whatever I needed. Don't you think it's time you were offered the same courtesy? So, Magister Pavus, I am yours to do with as you see fit."

A wicked smile tugged on the corner of his mouth. "Be careful what you offer."

Wyatt's pulse leapt. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed that smile. Missed _him_. "Is that a yes?"

A strong arm wound around Wyatt's trim waist and wrenched him into his chest. "What do you think?"

Everything fell into place in that moment. Joyous, Wyatt leaned forward, cupped Dorian's face, and offered a slow, lingering kiss that made him weak in the knees. "Maker, I missed you."

"And I you, Amatus."


End file.
